


Every Little Helps

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Fluff, M/M, not quite crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Aramis despairs, Athos concedes that maybe it's time to start dating again, and Porthos finds his disastrous attempts to do so highly amusing - then takes matters into his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Little Helps

**Author's Note:**

> Shamelessly inspired by _Supermarket Sam_ and encouraged out of my head by [mausii](http://mausii.tumblr.com), this is less daft than it could have been. It grew unexpected feelings along the way because everyone insisted on remaining as in-character as possible given the circumstances.

With only his worn, ratty dressing gown as protection from the cool evening air that drifted in through the open window, Athos perched on the sill and blew smoke out the narrow gap as the streetlights blinked on and bathed him in a sodium orange glow.

He heard the huff of irritation as Aramis came into the lounge, freshly showered, groomed, and smartly attired. Athos, his expression remaining unmoved by the disgruntled glare of his flatmate, nevertheless stubbed his cigarette out on the saucer doing service as an ashtray.

Athos was well aware that Aramis hated him smoking in the flat, but he refused to traipse downstairs any time he wanted to smoke. Sitting at the window was the compromise Aramis grudgingly accepted, because the cigarettes were, if not exactly less harmful, at least less self-destructive than the alcohol.

“Right, I’m off,” Aramis announced, grabbing his keys and phone. He paused as he passed Athos on his way to the door and shot a pointed look at Athos’s robe. “I might bring Sophie back later, and I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you were wearing some clothes.”

“I’m hardly naked,” Athos pointed out. Even if he were, he doubted Sophie would detach herself from Aramis long enough to even notice.

Aramis shook his head despairingly. “It’s a wonder the gay community hasn’t disowned you for insisting on dressing like a shabby tramp.”

Athos knew Aramis was joking, but he really wasn’t in the mood. “I can wear what I like in my own home.”

“It’s beginning to look like you’re planning on spending the rest of your life moping around here.” Aramis meant well, but Athos didn’t need yet another reminder of his inadequacies in the socializing department. “You need to get out there and find yourself a nice bloke. I mean, it has been, what…three years?”

A flash of anger shot through Athos, mixed itself up with long-suppressed pain and settled heavily in his stomach. He looked away, back to the damp street below, biting back the retort that rose on his tongue. Aramis was speaking from kindness; the man had remained a loyal friend through everything, and Athos often found himself wondering what he had done to deserve such friendship.

Immediately the words left his lips, Aramis regretted them. “Shit, I’m sorry.” Contrite, he went to Athos and wrapped his arms around him from behind in a tight hug and rested his chin on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded. I just hate seeing you unhappy.”

Athos closed his eyes and let Aramis leach the gloom that had begun to settle over him away. He could never stay mad at the guy for long, despite his numerous questionable activities when it came to his pursuit of the opposite sex. He leant back into the embrace for a moment, accepting both the apology and the show of affection from his friend, then caught Aramis’s hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m okay, Aramis,” he insisted, surprised to find it wasn’t a complete lie – he did feel better thanks to Aramis’s easy affection. “Honestly. Now go on, you’ll be late.”

Before he left the flat, Aramis cast one last assessing look at Athos as if to reassure himself he wasn’t going to start hunting for a bottle as soon as he was out the door, but Athos’s exaggerated eye roll was enough to allay his fears.

Alone, Athos turned on the television and sank onto the sofa, flicking through the channels for something distracting. As per usual, there was nothing decent on, so he left it on a mindless chat show doing a segment on technology while plucking at the frayed end of one of his sleeves and trying to convince himself he didn’t want another cigarette. Slowly, the conversation taking place on screen registered in his brain.

_“How would you go about finding a date in this day and age? According to our survey, dating sites now play a massive role in searching for ‘the one’.”_

_“That’s true, and there are many reasons why people choose to use them. They take away a lot of the pressure of having to approach someone in person, removing the fear and embarrassment of getting rejected.”_

_“Right – no one enjoys that! Setting up a profile also allows you to specify your intentions right from the off and, of course, means you can meet more people outside your usual social circle.”_

_“Most people said they like how quick and easy it is. There are even dating apps available now…”_

Athos glanced at his phone, its blank screen staring innocently up at him from the coffee table. Christ, an app for dating? Thank god Aramis wasn’t here to get any ideas.

Frowning at the thought of resorting to a damn app to find a date, Athos pushed himself up and went into the open-plan kitchen to make some tea. The voices from the telly followed him.

_“But we have also received a huge number of stories from people who found love in the more conventional ways.”_

_“There’s still a lot to be said for bumping into someone in the supermarket. Apparently, the best way to go about it is to take a look at what your fellow shoppers have in their trollies. Ready meals for one?”_

Did anyone really do that? Flicking the kettle on, Athos pushed his fringe out of his eyes and looked over at the TV. It sounded easier than trying to find a way to express himself through a phone app, but he could just imagine what a twat he would look, and that was before he had opened his mouth. But it couldn’t be any worse than Aramis’s attempts to get him into a club. Aramis might be perfectly at home in such an environment, but Athos felt horribly uncomfortable before even stepping through the door.

Scowling at the TV, he turned to the fridge, only to find they were out of milk. Again. Bloody Aramis. Now he would _have_ to get dressed and walk down to the shop, or they would have to do without in the morning.

Turning the kettle off again with an exasperated flick of a finger, he went to his bedroom and haphazardly pulled on the first things that came to hand.

* * * *

Wandering up and down the aisles of the express supermarket on the corner of the main road, Athos caught himself looking into the trollies of his fellow shoppers and trying to suss if any of them might be a potential target – or should that be victim? – of a prospective foray back into the dating game. The idea had been planted in his head, and now it was growing roots.

As far as Athos was concerned, the blame lay squarely in Aramis’s court. He did, however, grudgingly admit Aramis had a point: he couldn’t mope around the flat on his own forever.

Silently cursing his flatmate, Athos rounded the end of an aisle and almost crashed into a man selecting shampoo from the shelf. Somewhere in the midst of his mumbled apology, Athos briefly made eye contact and, yes, okay, the bloke was admittedly quite attractive.

Recovering from his clumsy space cadet impersonation, Athos straightened his shoulders and reached for a bottle of the same brand of shampoo the other man was holding. Before he could chicken out he forced himself to speak.

“Ah, you use this one too? I find it makes it makes my hair really—” he looked at the label for inspiration— “coconutty.”

The expression of squinty-eyed bafflement that his comment triggered suggested that what Athos feared had been blithering nonsense had indeed been blithering nonsense. He attempted to cover it up with a smile.

“Maybe that’s why my wife uses it.”

His _wife_?! Good god. Just how out of practise was he? Granted, the man’s wedding band had been hidden by the bottle in his hand, but still. The shiny-haired model smiling at him from the shampoo’s label was most certainly female.

Athos’s smile didn’t falter, but, inwardly cringing and mentally cursing Aramis once more, he beat a hasty retreat.

It was only when he was halfway home that he realised he had forgotten the damn milk.

* * * *

One thing Athos was not was a quitter. He was so far out of his comfort zone he wanted to curl up on the sofa and stay there forever, but now he’d started he was bloody well going to see it through.

Despite his resolution, it was several days before he worked up the courage to try again. This time, he dug out a decent shirt, then the iron, and even trimmed his beard to something less like the unkempt fuzz favoured by escaped lunatics.

He also determined to be a little more focused as he entered the supermarket once more.

A shock of sandy hair and sun-browned skin caught his eye and he casually strolled down the pet food aisle to assess his next prospective target. Pretending to be scanning the shelves, Athos subtly observed as the man added three tins of dog food to his basket.

The guy obviously owned a dog, so he must be the caring type, willing to take on the responsibility for another life. Sidling closer, Athos glanced into his basket: plenty of fruit and veg that hinted at a health-conscious lifestyle, but not in such quantity as to suggest he was feeding more than one person.

_Okay. Be cool._

Athos plucked a can from the shelf right beside the guy, went through the motions of checking the label, placed it in his trolley, and when he looked up again he made a point of acknowledging the man with a casual nod and smile.

The guy smiled back.

Encouraged, Athos charged ahead with a bit of opening small talk. “What kind of dog do you have?”

He seemed happy enough to talk about his pet. “A labradoodle. Molly.”

Athos nodded, as if in approval, although he wouldn’t recognize a labradoodle if one bit him on the arse in the middle of Crufts’s Ridiculously Named Crossbreed judging final. Still, so far, so good.

“You know what they say about dogs looking like their owners,” he said quickly, before his question was thrown back at him and he had to invent a non-existent pet. “Well, Molly must be incredibly cute.”

The young man’s eyebrows shot up, but instead of looking pleased at the compliment, he seemed a little creeped out. Athos suspected that particular line had come out sounding just a touch too sleazy. Or maybe the guy just considered Athos a little too old for him.

Either way, he shuffled uncomfortably. “Yeah, mate, she is. Hungry too, so I’d better…” He waved the can in his hand in the general direction of the checkout then hurried off.

Later, Aramis asked why they had a tin of dog food in the cupboard, to which Athos could only mumble something about accidently picking up the wrong tin.

* * * *

Although Athos wouldn’t let repeated failure thwart his attempts to achieve at least some measure of success, he was beginning to feel faintly ridiculous. He didn’t expect to find his soul mate in the baked goods aisle, nor did he really believe he was ready for any kind of full-on emotional relationship.

But it had now become a matter of pride.

He was getting better at the actual _shopping_ portion of these excursions, which meant it was no longer a _complete_ waste of his time. He had told Aramis he would restock the freezer, and so, his trolley laden with lasagne, chips, peas, and ice cream, he joined the shortest queue at the checkouts.

The guy in front of him was waiting while the cashier scanned through his items. He was maybe a couple of years younger than Athos and dressed casually, but in a way that somehow managed not to appear scruffy.

Now was as good a time as any to give it another bash.

“It’s busy in here tonight,” Athos commented, aiming to establish an amiable rapport.

“For this time of day, yeah.” The bloke seemed affable enough.

“I prefer shopping at this time. Any earlier and there’s barely enough room to swing half a cat.”

_Half a cat? Did that sound as disturbing out loud as it did in my head?_

The answer to his unspoken question was apparently a resounding ‘yes’ if the look on the man’s face was any indication.

There _was_ a snort of laughter, but not from his intended target. The cashier quickly ducked his head, but not before Athos caught his smile. His barely disguised amusement was preferable to the curious, assessing gaze the other customer was giving him, however.

Athos decided not to attempt an explanation of his mangled proverb fearing it would make him sound even more unhinged. Best just to chalk it up as another loss.

He avoided meeting the man’s gaze again while he paid, collected his bags, and left.

“Half a cat, eh?”

Athos winced. It had obviously been too much to ask that the cashier would just let that go. But rather than mockery, there was only gentle mirth sparkling in the bloke’s eyes.

“Don’t remind me.” Why had he chosen a public place as the arena for his humiliation? And why did the guy witnessing said humiliation have to be so bloody gorgeous?

The cashier looked vaguely familiar. Athos was sure he’d been served by him before, but he had always been too distracted to really notice him. Now that he had, however…

“Is that what all this has been about?” The cashier’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You’ve been tryin’ to chat someone up?”

Humiliation instantly morphed into mortification. Oh, god, had he been that obvious? How long ago had he twigged what Athos was doing?

“No. Well, yes.” May as well give the guy something to laugh about in the staff room later. “Apparently, a supermarket is a good place to start.”

Gorgeous Cashier raised a curious eyebrow, an amused smile still playing at his lips.

“Doesn’t everyone just sign up to a dating site these days?”

 _Not a situation you’ve ever found yourself in, I imagine_ , Athos thought without malice. “Yes. There are even apps now.”

Another huff of laughter. “Doesn’t surprise me.” He waved the last item – the tub of ice cream – past the scanner, put it in the bag, and looked at Athos again. “I assume you’ve had no luck.”

“That would be putting it mildly.” Athos sighed and dug his wallet out of his pocket. “I think it’s time to admit defeat.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Athos frowned, bristling at the thought of receiving more unwanted advice, but he was affixed by dark, mischievous eyes that he just couldn’t look away from, and his burgeoning irritation immediately subsided.

“Maybe you’ve just been looking in the wrong place.”

Mouth suddenly dry, Athos stared as his brain worked to unravel the meaning behind those words. Could he really be saying what Athos thought he was saying? No, he must be imagining the heat in that gaze, surely?

A quick lick of his lips and Athos managed, “Perhaps I have.” He had no idea what he was supposed to say now, hadn’t planned for getting this far. “I, uhm…”

That triggered another laugh, one of charmed amusement rather than mocking mirth.

Thankfully, Athos was rescued from his floundering. “My shift finishes at ten. Meet me outside.”

Nodding dumbly, too stunned to speak, Athos picked up his carrier bag.

“Don’t forget your change.”

Athos obediently held out his hand for the coins, passed to him with a deliberate brushing of fingers. He must have looked like the proverbial rabbit because the man’s eyes crinkled into a gentle smile.

“I’m Porthos,” the cashier said, which Athos would have known had his attention not been so firmly affixed elsewhere, for he was wearing a name badge attached to his shirt.

“Athos,” he croaked, and he managed a smile – albeit one that must have looked ridiculously goofy – before Porthos diligently turned to greet his next customer.

Somehow, in a state of dazed astonishment, Athos made it home.

* * * *

When Porthos emerged from the supermarket at ten past ten, Athos knew he was staring but was powerless to stop. Porthos had changed out of his work clothes into a pair of well-worn jeans and tight black t-shirt, topped by a leather jacket that sat snug across his broad shoulders. Best of all, he was wearing that bright grin.

“Hey,” Porthos greeted him warmly, apparently pleased, if maybe not surprised, to find Athos waiting for him.

“Hi.” Athos couldn’t help but smile back; despite the jittery flutter of nervous anticipation in his stomach, he had regained both his composure and his courage during the hour’s wait. “I hope it’s not too forward to invite you back to mine, only I have plenty of lasagne and ice cream.”

“That sounds perfect.” It sounded like Porthos meant it. Relieved, Athos steered them up the road, walking side by side beneath the glow of the streetlights. A few steps later, Porthos spoke again.

“At least it’s not shampoo and Pedigree Chum on the menu.”

Athos felt his cheeks flush, hot in the chilly evening air, but Porthos bumped his shoulder with his own and Athos could appreciate the absurdity of his disastrous endeavour. He no longer cared, not when he had this man beside him, their arms brushing as they walked.

In absolutely no sense of the word would Athos consider himself a cook, but even he was able to heat up a pre-made lasagne in the oven with only minimal chance of burning it to a beyond edible state. The plate he served to Porthos once they were back at the flat looked, and smelt, pretty good, even if he could take none of the credit himself. Porthos didn’t seem to mind.

Unfortunately, he could only provide orange juice or tap water as choice of accompanying beverage.

“I would offer you a proper drink, but we don’t keep alcohol in the flat.”

Athos expected that to prompt a curious enquiry about the reasons behind that practise, and he found he was oddly willing to explain, but Porthos merely looked interested and asked, “‘We’?”

“My flatmate, Aramis. Actually, that’s doing him a disservice. He’s also my best friend.”

“He not around tonight?”

“No, he’s out with his girlfriend.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, Athos realised this was the longest conversation he had had with anyone other than Aramis in…a heck of a long time. Strangely, he was enjoying it. “Or, _one_ of his girlfriends. I’m pretty certain he has more than one.”

Porthos screwed his face into a comical grimace. “Sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

“I’ve tried to tell him that. He doesn’t listen.”

That drew a chuckle from Porthos. “I think I’d like to meet him,” he said, grin plastered across his face, probably wondering at the apparent disparity between the two friends.

Athos agreed that he should meet Aramis, because maybe being introduced to his… _boyfriend?_ would stop Aramis worrying about him for five minutes, but the reason for the smile that affixed itself firmly to Athos’s lips was the implication that Porthos wanted to stick around long enough to make meeting his friend worthwhile.

That was something else he hadn’t done this much in a long time: smile. Suddenly, he found he couldn’t stop.

The easy conversation continued between forkfuls of lasagna, and didn’t even pause when Athos went to dish up the ice cream for desert. At Athos’s suggestion, they took their bowls to the sofa to finish their meal sat side by side on the worn but comfortable cushions.

“So, the supermarket,” Athos ventured, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. “Is that a full-time job?” Somehow, he couldn’t see Porthos sat behind a cash register or stacking shelves on a daily basis.

“No, I work at the gym in the leisure centre, as a personal trainer. I also run the kids’ karate classes.”

Ah, that seemed more fitting; Athos had no problem picturing Porthos in that role.

“I just do a few evening shifts at the shop to earn a bit of extra cash,” Porthos continued. “Y’see, ever since I was a kid, I’ve wanted a boat. Something to do with the freedom it promises, being able to go wherever you want and working so closely with nature.” Athos could see how deeply this long-held dream ran from just the earnest passion in Porthos’s eyes. Then, Porthos wrinkled his nose. “Does that sound stupid?”

“Not at all.” It sounded perfect. “It sounds very romantic.”

The bright grin was back. “I could ask you to sail away with me.”

Athos raised an eyebrow, a thrill of pleasure fizzing in his chest at the thought that Porthos would consider asking him along on such an adventure. “I thought I was the one with the terrible chat-up lines.”

“Oh, that crown remains firmly on your head,” Porthos managed to say amidst his own laugh. Athos groaned at the reminder of his bloody awful attempts at finding a date, but the irony didn’t escape him; the experiment had worked, if not quite in the way he had originally intended.

Porthos’s smile grew wistful as his thoughts wandered back to his tentative dreams. “It’ll probably never happen,” he predicted, and Athos hated how this sensible, practical thinking dimmed his smile.

Athos gave Porthos’s arm a squeeze and held his gaze. “It will,” he said with complete conviction, for if anyone could turn fantasy into reality, Athos was certain this man could – an assumption based purely on only a couple of hours of acquaintance.

Porthos’s eyes searched his, the intensity in their silent exchange of hope and promise warming Athos as he began to believe Aramis had been right; what he had been in need of was a good dose of optimism and some belief in the future. Something to focus on heading towards rather than forever looking back.

Porthos leaned forward to place his empty bowl on the coffee table, his knee pressing against Athos’s as he moved. That one little point of contact ignited a fire, sparked a desire that was completely unexpected but utterly consuming and Athos needed more. Unsure how to express that, Athos looked at Porthos and realised he didn’t have to say a word.

And then nothing else mattered because Porthos was kissing him and it was bloody amazing. A hint of sweet ice cream, the wet teasing of a tongue, the soft cushions at his back as Porthos pressed him down into the sofa and Athos pulled him closer with fists bunched in his t-shirt.

A knee worked its way between his thighs, soon joined by a hand that had Athos bucking and arching for more. Porthos shifted, then gave a low growl of frustration to find his movement limited by the confines of the sofa.

“Bed,” he requested, the word forming against Athos’s lips.

They were tearing at each other’s clothes before they even made it through the doorway, and by the time they collapsed onto the bed they were naked, hard, and a tangle of limbs and tongues.

Soon, Athos’s world had receded, leaving nothing but the feel of Porthos’s fingers and mouth playing over every inch of his body. By the time one large hand wrapped around his cock, he was a bundle of overstimulated nerves, clinging onto whatever part of Porthos he could reach, fingers kneading, blunt nails scraping. And Porthos didn’t stop there; his hand journeyed lower, engulfing Athos’s balls, pausing a moment to squeeze and roll them playfully, before continuing. One finger, slick with precum, trailed slowly along the strip of skin behind his balls, eliciting a sharp gasp, and came to rest against his hole.

It took a minute for Athos to register that Porthos had asked him a question, even though his lips were pressed to the pulse point beneath his ear.

“Yes,” Athos finally rasped in response, his voice thick, ragged, unconsciously parting his legs a little more. “Oh fuck, yes.”

He felt the vibration of Porthos’s chuckle. “Yeah, that’s the idea.”

Then Porthos pushed inside. Athos found himself grateful for Porthos’s confident, forward approach. If it had been left to him, he would still be stood at that checkout, gawking like an idiot.

Athos watched, transfixed by the sight of the man above him and the feel of his fingers deep inside of him. In an embarrassingly short time he was squirming, bearing down, needing more.

“Hold on.”

Porthos carefully removed his fingers to let Athos roll away to the edge of the bed. Yanking open the drawer of his bedside table, Athos quickly located some lube, tossed it onto the mattress, and returned to rummage some more. Then he sat up and started pulling things out, digging deeper, desperation mounting.

_There must be one in here somewhere…How do I not have any condoms? I have a fucking stapler! When do I ever use a stapler? Fuck._

Aramis would have some, he was sure, but there was no way he was about to go rooting through his friend’s room. He could just imagine having to explain that tomorrow.

Giving up the hunt, Athos perched on the edge of the bed and dropped his head into his hands in defeated despair.

How could he not have a condom? How many times had he visited that damn supermarket in the last couple of weeks? Had it not once occurred to him that he should have prepared on the off-chance, however unlikely it was, that he encountered some success?

“I’m such an idiot.”

“What’s wrong?”

Did Porthos sound a little worried? Probably wondering why he had ever gotten himself into this when Athos had shown every sign of being a total failure.

“I don’t have any condoms,” he admitted, feeling like a prize prat and dreading what Porthos must be thinking of him. He risked a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t suppose you have one?” Porthos seemed like a practical kind of bloke; surely he would have one tucked in his wallet?

“Sorry.” At least he looked genuinely regretful. “I never was a Boy Scout.”

With the dispirited knowledge that he had stumbled this far only to fuck everything up at the last, most important moment, Athos scrubbed a hand across his eyes and cursed himself. He felt the mattress bounce as Porthos moved, but he kept his eyes closed. He didn’t want to watch the man get up and put his clothes back on.

Hands brushed over his back as Porthos knelt behind him, and Athos gave a surprised start at the touch. He barely had chance to process that this meant Porthos wasn’t leaving before a series of light kisses were trailed along his shoulder and up his neck, stopping only when they reached his ear.

“Doesn’t matter,” Porthos said, and the deep rumble of his voice shot straight to the pit of Athos’s stomach. “There’re plenty of other things we can do.”

Porthos folded his arms around Athos, and Athos sank back against his broad chest as a hand skimmed over his belly and down, fingers wrapping around his softened cock and gently stroking it hard once more. A soft, strangled sound of pleasure escaped Athos’s lips and he turned his head in search of Porthos’s mouth and Porthos was drawing him back down to the bed.

Afterwards, sticky but sated and wrapped in Porthos’s arms, Athos drifted on the edge of contented sleep, not quite daring to hope this was a sign of what lay in his future. Still, there was a glimmer, a small spark inside him that wouldn’t be denied.

* * * *

Aramis, sat at the tiny kitchen table, looked up from the screen of his phone as Athos entered the room, then performed a cartoonish double take as Porthos appeared behind Athos. His lips parted as if he were about to speak, but words clearly failed him and he just gaped at the two of them.

There was some pride to be had from rendering Aramis speechless, something Athos expressed with just the smallest twitch of a smile.

“Porthos, this is Aramis.”

Porthos bestowed Aramis with one of his radiant smiles, but Aramis just stared back as if trying to convince himself he wasn’t hallucinating.

Eventually, he found his voice. “Where on earth did you come from?”

“He’s on a mission to rescue endangered cats,” Athos deadpanned, heading for the kettle.

“Huh?” Aramis, already completely bewildered, was left none the wiser by Porthos’s bellow of laughter.

Reluctant to explain before his morning shot of caffeine, Athos ignored Aramis’s silent look of enquiry and instead asked Porthos if he wanted some coffee.

“I’d love some, but I’ve gotta get going.”

Athos’s heart lurched. Was this the part where Porthos thanked him for a great night and proceeded to let him down gently?

“Oh.” He couldn’t look at Porthos, only concentrate on keeping his face in its typical blank mask as he tried to ignore the way his heart began to sink into his suddenly hollow stomach. Why had be ever believed this might end differently?

With two fingers, Porthos gently lifted his chin and kissed him hard on the mouth. Athos’s breath caught in his chest and he could only blink mutely as warm, dark eyes sought his own.

“Can I see you tonight?” Porthos asked him.

 _Yes_.

When Porthos raised an eyebrow, Athos realised he hadn’t spoken aloud, couldn’t even remember how to. Quickly, he nodded, then kissed Porthos again and this time it was passionate and lingering and sent Athos’s heart soaring once more.

It was with great reluctance that they parted. As Porthos shrugged into his jacket, he beamed at their astonished audience of one.

“Good to meet you, Aramis.”

Aramis nodded, still at a loss for words. “Yeah.”

With one last light brush of fingertips over Athos’s hand, Porthos was gone, but that hope he had brought with him remained – a physical presence in Athos’s soul.

Returning to his task of making coffee, Athos felt Aramis’s gaze burning a hole in his back.

“There’s no need to look so surprised, Aramis.”

“You can hardly blame me!”

Athos brought his steaming mug to the table and sat opposite Aramis. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Only if you’re happy.”

“I am.” That was the truth, and the certainty in his voice convinced Aramis, too.

Aramis smiled. “Good.” Then he leaned forwards and made an expansive gesture with one hand toward the door through which Porthos had exited a few minutes earlier. “But how did you manage _that_?”

Athos gave him a small, secretive smirk, and raised his mug for a sip. Realising he wasn’t going to get a satisfactory answer, Aramis sighed and slumped back in his chair again.

“Fine. Retain your air of mystery.” But Aramis was only pretending to be in a huff; his delight at seeing Athos so buoyant was evident in the affectionate light that danced in his eyes as he shot a feigned glare across the table.

It may have been a comedy of errors, but it seemed to Athos that something had fallen into place in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am guilty of borrowing that unfortunate feline. I couldn't resist. And my thanks to Tesco for the title.


End file.
